Frenchmen Always Give Perfect Gifts
by Abarero
Summary: France looked with determination at the name on his list and decided this was the year to rise to the challenge. He would buy his beloved Canada something that set his eyes alight with joy and bring his sweet smile to his face. The perfect gift. Fra/Can


**Notes:** For the **maplesandroses** Winter Gift-aThon. The prompt was: _France gives Canada the best Christmas gift ever._

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**Frenchmen Always Give Perfect Gifts**

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There were many things France felt he excelled exceedingly at. And setting aside those that involved activities in the bedroom or kitchen (or perhaps a combination of both locations), one of these talents he felt quite confident in was his ability to always give the perfect gift.

Now, of course, being a nation gave rise to a bit of a challenge in the gift-giving department. It meant that for centuries, he'd have to find the perfect gift each and every time. Something, if he did say so himself, he still felt quite adept at.

Christmas especially was time for this and, as the current year's holiday rolled around, France easily crossed off the gifts on his list.

Easiest was always England's- which for the last several years had been one of the many title variants on the _Cooking for Dummies_ books.

Russia and Germany, France always selected the newest and best fashion for and sent it with strict instructions on how it all should be coordinated and worn. In Russia's case, he'd always had a fondness for France's culture. As for Germany, well, France decided _someone_ needed to do something about his drab fashion sense.

Many others received culinary masterpieces, artwork or flowers chosen especially to suit them. For any of the charming ladies in his life, he would send along some sweets along with a bouquet and along with assuring them that indulging a little would never harm body figures so perfect.

America made gift-buying for him incredibly easy, as about mid-November he always sent out a mass email to all his friends telling them what he'd like for Christmas that year. For France, the hardest part there was figuring out how to buy it online as he still found himself a bit frazzled by the technology.

And so, nation after nation, friend after friend, and political acquaintance after another, France went down his list until there was but one name left.

Canada.

Canada was always a tricky one to buy for; the North American nation having winters too frigid to be able to appreciate French winter fashions. And while he surely enjoyed the food, art and flowers France had given him in the past, France knew him well enough to tell that it was a gift he _liked_, but not quite one he _loved_.

France looked with determination at the name on his list and decided this was the year to rise to the challenge. He would buy his beloved Canada something that set his eyes alight with joy and bring his sweet smile to his face. Something that for Canada was truly the perfect gift.

* * *

As November ticked over into December, France had already secured gifts for the majority of his shopping list. Those receiving something a bit more perishable, such as food or flowers, he'd noted what to buy them closer to the holiday.

But the perfect gift for Canada had still eluded him completely.

He'd looked at so-called Canadian high fashion and found he just couldn't bring himself to call any such clothing a gift. His pride as a fashionista just wouldn't allow it. And as much as he saw Canada wearing plaids and carrying it off quite well, it didn't make it a deserving gift. Clothes, France had often believed, should only be a gift when they are so original, unique and fantastic that they are, in themselves, a gift to behold.

Plaid was none of those things. Well, at least not this year.

Plus, as he considered and vetoed several more gift options, Canada was someone that held a very special place in France's heart. A simple friend-gift just wouldn't do.

So he considered painting something. He had painted an impressionist styled piece much like Monet, who he knew Canada had a fondness for, a few years back. And although that was definitely something that Canada ended up really treasuring, France thought to himself as he put his paints back away, it just wasn't special to receive a similar gift only a few years apart.

With the days growing ever closer to Christmas and his list of ideas growing ever shorter, France swallowed his pride and did the one thing he'd been avoiding.

He called America.

* * *

"Happy Holidays!" The jovial voice on the other end of the line answered. At first France swore he even heard sleigh bells in the background, until he made out the distant lyrics of a song playing along with the rhythmic jingling.

"Or should I say, Joyeux Noël?" America continued, obviously knowing the caller already by his cell phone's digital readout.

France chuckled at that. "Ah Amérique, your French accent is still a bit…"

"Cajun. I know," America replied, laughter in his tone. "So what's up?"

Taking a deep breath, France began, "You see, mon ami, about Christmas…"

With an exasperated sigh, the younger nation asked, "Are you having trouble with online shopping for me again?"

"Non non, that is not it at all!"

"Trouble deciding what to get me then? Because I can tell you already, if you get those superhero boxers I want, England will murder you in your sleep."

France laughed at that, "Ah, but knowing that only makes me want to buy them for you even more…"

"France…"

"If you insist, I will refrain from inciting the wrath of your boyfriend in the selecting of your gift."

"I insist," America said firmly.

"But, as much as it humbles me to ask you, I do have a very daunting question about a gift for someone else."

If possible, France swore he could sense America raising an eyebrow out of curiosity over the line.

"Oh?"

He rushed it out in a breath before he could regret it. "Do you have any idea what your dearest brother Canada would like as a gift?"

France swore he heard America repress a snort.

"Did you ask him what he wanted?"

He balked. Well that might have been the logical idea, but in terms of maintaining his pride as a lover… "A true lover of people knows those closest to him so well, he shouldn't ask what it is their heart desires."

At that, America did snort. "And yet, you're asking me what to get my bro?"

France sighed in defeat. "Oui. My intuition tells me that there is something he truly wants that I cannot fathom. I can see it in his eyes, if you will."

"Well, I'm not sure you're going to like it," America paused, taking a deep breath, "there is one thing he's mentioned to me that he's wanted for years now."

"Really?"

"Yep. Forbid me getting it for him, because it's not as cool if it isn't a surprise. And refuses to buy it for himself, because he wants it to have special sentimental meaning. Chances are, it's what he's been hoping someone special- _like his boyfriend_- would buy him."

France perked up at that. Clearly, this was what he'd been missing- the perfect gift that Canada so desired.

"It's a bit goofy, but…" America's smile could practically be heard in his tone, "he's really wanted slippers that look like polar bear paws."

France held his phone back from his ear and stared at it. Polar bear slippers? That was the supposed perfect gift for his dear Canada? It just couldn't be!

Warily placing the phone back to his ear, he was about to question America, certain that it must be his idea of a prank. Or perhaps, something that despicable Brit had put his boyfriend up to.

But before he could, his mind singled out a memory from last Christmas of how thrilled Canada was to get a hockey-patterned robe and how he'd rarely seen the younger nation go without it since. That gift had been from his twin. So maybe America was onto something…

"France?" America asked, concerned by the silence.

"Oui?"

"Hasn't he ever told you how he hates how cold his feet get? Probably even dropped a few hints about how much he loves polar bears?"

Sacré bleu. The answer _had_ been staring him in the face all along! Even the last time he'd seen Canada, he'd complained then of cold feet and said "I wish I had Kumajiro's warm fur sometimes, eh!"

Then again…

"But…polar bear _slippers_? That's just so…so…"

His inner fashionista was cringing at the mere _thought_ of such a thing.

America laughed, "That's Canada for you."

And France found, that as much as he wanted to, he really couldn't argue that point.

"Well then, where might one purchase these…slippers?"

* * *

He had managed to quash any doubts about his unconventional choice up until the very moment before gifts were being exchanged.

Canada had just presented France with a…rather elaborate gift. He'd made a large ice sculpture of a bouquet of roses (apparently using a chain saw on a large ice block) and inside it was two vintage bottles of France's favorite wines.

It was truly beautiful, and obviously something Canada had worked long and hard to carve out so intricately.

So France, after thanking Canada profusely with words and kisses, felt rather nervous as he held out the wrapped package that contained the slippers.

They weren't homemade. They didn't require any artistic skill to make. And, let's face it; they were rather ridiculous in both concept and design. Who honestly wanted slippers made of faux white fur and shaped as if they were the paws of a polar bear?

But the moment Canada caught sight of his gift, his eyes going wide and his face lighting up with elation, France knew he'd made the wise choice.

It didn't matter what the gift was, what mattered was what the receiver felt about it. And Canada quite clearly loved it.

"France, you…you actually got them, eh?"

He nodded. "Though I must admit, I had a little heroic bird help me out. I wanted to make certain I gave you something you really wanted."

He smiled, his arms wrapping around France and elated kisses being placed everywhere Canada could manage. Pulling back, still half-situated in France's lap, Canada beamed down at him.

"I don't care if you asked my bro. That just means you were really serious about getting me a good gift, eh." He nuzzled his nose against France's in an Eskimo kiss. "I'm just," he laughed a little, his long curl bouncing against France's cheek as he did, "a bit surprised you actually got them. They're a bit…well…"

"Not in fashion?" France provided with a chuckle. "Oui. Though I'm certain some avant-garde designers could work them in, non?"

Canada kissed him again at that and France decided that a little grateful love making was definitely in order.

Later that night, as Canada crept back up to the bedroom wearing only his hockey-patterned robe and the polar bear paw slippers to bring them both a late night cup of coffee, France decided that it was a perfect gift after all.

For anything that made his Canada so happy couldn't be anything _but_ perfect.

THE END


End file.
